Not that I want to jinx anything, but I think I’m writing again.
After a long drought – by which I mean, playing lots of video games and converting a small fraction of the unread contents of my Kindle to not-unread – I’ve managed to eke out a few words over the past couple of days. Nothing too impressive, but dipping my toes back in the water has not so far resulted in anything freezing solid and snapping off.
For a while there I wasn’t sure. My story engine has kept ticking over quietly in the background, coming up with characters and situations and so forth, but the desire to sit at a keyboard and flesh those ideas out has quieter than a grizzly in winter.
What I’ve been working on is a new story, with an imminent deadline. I tend to find it’s good for me to have a target to work toward but this time around I’m not troubled if I don’t make the due date. I’m not planning to burn out again for the sake of one gig, however cool.
Meanwhile my other unfinished stories from earlier in the year (and last year and the year before that, now that I think about it) are standing just offstage with their hands on their hips and an exasperated expression. They are cross with me and rightly so. So be it. I refuse to accept their scorn at the moment. They can wait until I’m done with this other thing.